


Monster

by Harmony283



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bonding, Gen, M/M, Post-Sburb, Pre-Sburb, Sibling Incest, Stridercest - Freeform, weird timeline shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmony283/pseuds/Harmony283
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You weren't one of those lucky people.  Which led you back to your current train of thought. Or rather to Dave, curled up next to you on the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pitch Black

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Stridercest, but I have to admit it's one of my favorite pairings for this fandom (or at the very least I don't think I'll ever not like it). Which led to this fic, inspired by a friend of mine's mini-comic of Bro checking under younger!Dave's bed for monsters. Naturally it grew to being more than that, but I'll definitely link to the comic once my friend has it uploaded somewhere!
> 
> This chapter mostly contains fluff, just in case anyone wanted to know :3 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> (Sburb and how it comes into play for this story will be explained later!)

  
You remember when Dave was younger, sometimes. Especially on nights like this, with thunder roaring overhead and lightning cutting through the pitch black Texas night. Wait. Fuck. That almost sounded poetic. No it wasn't fucking poetic, wasn't meant to be, but the power had gone out fuck knows how long ago and the city was mostly dark now, save for those who were lucky enough to have a generator.

You weren't one of those lucky people.  Which led you back to your current train of thought. Or rather to Dave, curled up next to you on the couch. He doesn't look like the 5"5 twelve year old that he most definitely is. Instead he looks like that pitiful six year old you remember soothing back to sleep because of a "Monster under his bed".  
  
You still kind of regret taking that teasing too far. He was just a kid and it wasn't his fault all the kids' shows always played up the "monster under the bed" scenario.  He'd looked so pathetic, eyes wide and too-big glasses slipping down his nose that even you had to give in and tell him you'd been lying.  
  
 _Relax, lil'bro, I was just messin' with you._ You remember ruffling his hair as he tried to shove those glasses back up his nose. _You're probably not that tasty anyway_. He'd squawked at you for that, but hey. Yeah you felt bad, didn't mean you couldn't tease.

Like now. Dave was old enough to not be scared of any monsters, and yet he still stumbled out into the living room when the power flickered. You assume he'd been talking to his newly-found online friends when the power cut, so maybe he was more "pissed" than he was scared, but you couldn't help but be curious about why he was still awake. It was nearing 2AM in the morning, after all and you'd just gotten home.

Not that you were gonna rail on the little shit for staying up. That was something you might have cared about back when he was in 3rd or 4th grade, when the teachers were extra nosy and condescending when they saw how young _you_ were. Like they thought they could raise the kid better than you could.  
                 
Actually yeah they probably could, but that was beside the point. You knew well enough how to take care of Dave. You have been since he was a baby and hell, part of that is knowing when to step the fuck back. It gave you more working hours, in any case. Because now it didn't matter if you were up in time to see him off to the school bus. He could get ready on his own, which meant you could sleep in, which meant you could stay out later.

Granted if he was up all night then you might say something. But for now? It didn't matter. He's asleep right now anyway and it's not even 3:30AM yet. Thank god for battery powered phones. You'd be lost without yours, even if the battery was 'in the red' and had been for most of the evening.

"Bro?" Dave groaned suddenly from next to you, tucking the blanket (that you chose to share with him, because why the fuck not?) closer around him. You try to pretend that didn't startle you, but it does. Not because he said your name, but _how_ he said it. His voice was strained, and a bit higher pitched than you've ever heard it before. His voice is strained and higher pitched than you've ever heard it before. Upon closer inspection (or rather a hand pressed against Dave's forehead because you're allowed to touch now, right?) he was sweating. Fuck.  
  
Did he have a fever? No. You would've noticed sooner. The kid was pale as fuck, there was no way you wouldn't have noticed—even in the dark. Another weak "Bro…" and suddenly he's gone rigid, eyes snapping open. You kind of wish you hadn't taken his shades off. You don't quite think either of you are ready to see the fear there. Even with years of Strider stoicism in place, he's still nowhere near capable of pulling off anything but a weak attempt of "Chill" when he notices his shades are, unceremoniously, off.

"Fuck," He groans, and you aren't sure if it's because he knows you know he let his guard down or because of something else entirely. Maybe it's for both, fuck, you're kind of frazzled yourself (Even if you'd never admit it). "How long was I asleep?" He mutters and rubs at his eyes, "Where're my shades?" He wants that protective barrier back, but really?

"No use wearin' 'em with the power out, lil'man." You ruffle his hair before pulling your hand away entirely. He frowns at you, but you're focusing on the TV screen like it will somehow miraculously turn back on. You know it won't. You weren't even watching it anyway.

"Yeah well you're wearing yours." His voice cracks third word in and you feel yourself smirk when his cheeks flame red. He always got so embarrassed when his cool act failed. Like now. "How the fuck can you even see?"

"Years of practice, lil' bro. You'll learn." You want to ruffle his hair again but you don't and for a while you lapse into uncomfortably silence. Finally, when he shifts to the other side of the couch, you speak up: "What were you dreamin' about?"

He freezes. Fuck. That's not a good sign.

"Nothin'." He doesn't even bother to try and make up some elaborate excuse of some epic dream. "Just some sick beats." You raise an eyebrow.

"That's it?" He actually flinches this time. Yeah, no, he wasn't trying at all was he? "Dude I'd think it'd be more than that."

"Why?" You can hear something in his voice. Something that sounds distinctly like he wants to abscond back to his room where he can sit and sulk in the dark. But at the same time he doesn't move. Strider Pride—that had to be it. "Fuck I can't have simple dreams for once? Wow, like to see what yours are filled with. Wait, no I wouldn't. Fuckin' smuppet ass up to my ears probably." You can't tell if he's freaked out by that thought, or in awe. Like your irony-worship even extended to your dreams.  
                 
"I'm not askin' you to spill your fuckin' guts. Don't you have that Lalonde chick to do that for you?" His face goes a little weird at that thought and it hits you then. "You were talkin' to her just now weren't you? Psychoanalyzin' you? Shit, how can you sit through somethin' like that?"

"Gee thanks for suddenly reminding me of what an asshole you are, Bro." There was something different in his voice again. Okay so you know he was still trying to mask whatever the hell happened in his dream (it must've been bad if he's still not over it) but this is also different. Maybe related, but still. "Snooping on my computer when I'm not around? What kind of low blow is that?"

"Not my fuckin' fault when you leave it out in the goddamn open, shithead." You move to ruffle his hair again (not to check if his hair is drenched with sweat, you tell yourself half-heartedly) but he ducks out of the way.  In the process he stumbles a bit and falls off the couch/futon with a surprising lack of grace and you're kind of amazed that he somehow missed the coffee table but he did and now he's glaring at you in a mess of tangled limbs and blanket. You don't say anything but he glares at you anyway before untangling himself as best he can and standing up.  
                 
He promptly gives you the finger before walking out of the living room, down the hall, and you hear his door slam. A casual glance at the side-table shows that he hadn't even bothered to grab his shades. Not that you care (that much). He can scream bloody murder all he wants when he wakes up with his retinas burning out in the Texas sun.

And now you can get the peace and quiet you deserve, even with the storm still raging outside.

  
*  
  
You pretend you didn't dream of anything when you wake up the next morning, but you swear you see blue every time you close your eyes. It's just as startling as it is familiar, but you don't question it. It isn't important. Dave gives you a weird look when he finally stumbles out of his room, but says nothing. It strikes you then that he doesn't look young at all. He looks much older than he should, or at least for a twelve year old.

That makes you uneasy, but you let it slide. It wasn't a Strider's job to worry about things like that.  
  
(But you know you will anyway) 


	2. In Which a Few Important Plot Points Get Explained

**  
  
It goes on like this for the next couple of days. You trying to pretend nothing's wrong, and Dave with those weird glances every now and again like half expects you to ask him. Ask him what? It's why you ignore this…whatever this is and go on about your daily business.

Hell it's not even a week and you're already coming undone. You the epitome (you'd like to think, anyway) of cool and ironic gestures are coming undone because of your brother so much as /looking/ at you.

Okay no not like that. Or not entirely because of that, but it's a close thing and it reminds you just how shitty you are at this.

You have no business raising a kid, much less someone who obviously needs more than you can ever provide and yet you are anyway. Have been for the last twelve years. It's not like you're going to stop now.  
  
You don't give up that easily. Or rather, you won't.  You've just hit a road bump, one caused by a kid that's pretty much labeled a "pre-teen" and even though your memories are foggy at best you remember how shitty yours was. There's no way the brat's gonna be any better, even if he's got you. Or maybe it's because of that.  
  
*

It's when he comes home early one day from school that you start to worry. Sure he's not the best kid in class, but he's certainly not the worst. You taught him better than to skip, especially when he's what? In Sixth grade?  
  
Hell he doesn't even tell you exactly when he got home; you just notice his bookbag sitting by the door on the way from your first job to your second job. Christ, when did he get to be so quiet?  
  
You can't deal with it now, though. You have a job to get to and a mouth to feed. You'll talk to him about it in the morning.  
  
*  
  
You don't talk to him about it in the morning.  
  
*  
  
==>Be the boy you refuse to talk to:  
  
You are now the boy you refuse to talk to. In other words you are Dave Strider, twelve year old wanna-be cool kid, and you really  
  
Really  
  
Hate nightmares.  
  
You've been getting them more and more frequently lately, and it's little wonder why. You can tell Bro notices, but he hasn't said anything so you won't either. There's no reason to. You know how to wake yourself up now, and if you don't then Rose almost always does. Maybe she still has that freaky twin thing going on. Who are you kidding? Of course she does. It's not like you ever stopped being related.  
  
Things just changed.  
  
Just a little bit, a little hiccup here and there. Different but still universally the same damn thing, the same damn earth, the same damn trolls. The only difference is you grew up with it.  
  
Nightmares were so much easier to pass off when you were younger, when Bro could pat you on the head and tell you "Big Boys don't cry" or "The monsters are gone" and you actually believed him. You don't so much anymore. You don't because Rose told you once to stop deluding yourself.  
  
Bro doesn't know. Doesn't remember it, just like you're sure Rose's mother doesn't remember it either. Neither does John's dad, but whenever you try to bring it up with John he shuts you up.

It must be hard for him. He was a cheerful kid. Must worry his dad sick.

But you're only twelve years old, no one's going to believe you have enough experience to make yourself at least eighteen alone. No adult in their right mind was going to believe that. You never push the subject, either. You'd heard Rose tried a few times only to get (lovingly) thrown into the counselor's office.  
  
She was still bitter about that.

You still aren't sure how you even got that story out of her.

Point being: you hate nightmares, because you know they're real. They're from a time that isn't _yours_ , not necessarily. They're someone else's. An older you that you won't ever grow into, but whose memories were supplanted in you like a doomed time line fusion. Like what Rose had.

You were usually the best at hiding it. Behind her, that is. She was already at the start of her "creepy goth" phase, which was weird to see but inevitable. You only knew her when she wore black and purple, but you have to admit she looks good in bright colors.

Like orange and yellow.

That's what caused this to begin with.

Remembering too much. You wish you don't remember as much, but as the Knight of Time you guess it's your job.

A normal life with the trade of horrific memories? Sure you can deal.

You always deal.

But you didn't expect them to haunt you. Not in the middle of the day like that.

It was a guy named Jack.

He was a shitty upperclassman at the shitty private school your bro somehow managed to chuck you into. Anti-bullying with a nice dose of "you better get your sweet ass to church every Sunday or fucking else" it was just great. Great and goddamn expensive.

It didn't get rid of the bullying.

It didn’t get rid of Jack.

Or Droog or Clover or Boxcar. You don't even know if those are their real names. Just that they're here. They're here. Sure Midnight Crew is still a comic that everyone adores, but you still felt the chill run down your spine.

They weren't the same. Why did you panic?

One minute you're on the track, watching as they beat up some poor girl carrying a can of paint for the PE teacher. Next minute you know you're halfway home, backpack in hand and you're breathing hard.

In the next instant you're home.

You vaguely remember hearing the door open and close, then open and close again. But you're still trying to catch your breath, so it's no surprise when, in a blink of an eye, it's morning again.

You wait for bro to come in. To yell at you--he's paying good money to send you to that damn school and you aren't stupid enough to skip when you don't need to. The school probably already called him anywya, reprimanding him for his sudden disappearance. But no knock came. No shout from the living room where Bro was no doubt lounging on the couch.

A pesterchum window blinks from the corner of your eye and you realize you must have pulled your laptop next to you at some point.

It's Rose, predictably. But also --  
  
 **apocalypseArisen [AA]** **began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]**

**AA: dave!  
AA: are y0u 0kay?  
AA: r0se has been trying t0 get in t0uch with y0u since yesterday.  
AA: she says y0u haven't resp0nded yet  
AA: s0 I th0ught I w0uld try!  
  
** You think for a moment before replying. Do you really want to talk to anyone right now? Not really. But this is Aradia. Sure it was a bit weird now that you knew who they were (and they in turn, knew who you were) but she was still a Hero of Time, just like you once were.  
  
That title feels so foreign now, as you sit up and type out:  
 **  
TG: oh hey AA  
TG: whats up?  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay yeah sorry for the late update (to those who actually read this). It's the end of the school year and finals abound...which yeah, leaves no time for writing even painfully short things.
> 
> I also hope this chapter explained a few things. And yes I know Aradia's typing quirk isn't exactly the same, but I wanted to help differentiate her typing style a little bit more from Jade's, thus the o's to 0's stay! Speaking of which how do you do the HTML for pesterlogs? I swear I found out but then I hilariously forgot. HTML is not my friend xD;


End file.
